


today isn't your day

by translorastyrell (nerddowell)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Blood and Injury, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Guilt, Hurt No Comfort, Medical, nobody dies i promise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24559822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/translorastyrell
Summary: written as a fill for this tumblr post:Okay, I absolutely love Jaskier getting hurt by a monster and Geralt feeling guilty and tending to him but imagine...it‘s actually physically Geralt that hurts him. A mistake, A hard fight, he lost sight of Jaskier‘s exact position, and then it‘s his sword that hurts Jaskier accidentally.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 114





	today isn't your day

He didn’t mean for it to happen.

He’d say he’s only human, but the truth - as he, and everyone else, well knows - is that he’s not. In truth, it was the person who _is_ only human, who got hurt.

The last thing Geralt remembers is a thin, shrill scream on the knife edge between pain and fear, the shadow of the royal griffin passing over their heads, and the blinding flash of silver in the brilliant sunlight. Silver, to be used on monsters; never on humans.

It wasn’t the sword that injured the bard. It was the trap, yrden, laid in the long grasses that tickled his fair skin as he fell in a tangle of splintered bone and crackling magic. The griffin’s head bounced off a rock and rolled down the ravine, blood falling like rain to spatter over the witcher’s pale skin as its body plummeted towards the ground, wings limp and spread wide. Roach side-stepped neatly with a whicker, more than used by now to the sudden appearance of large and lethal creatures - alive or dead - in her near vicinity.

Geralt doesn’t connect that sound - the scream, the crack of bone - to Jaskier at first. He had, after all, caused the griffin’s head to part company with its neck at the same moment. But when the adrenaline spike calms and the blood rushing in his ears quietens from a roar to a murmur, he hears it. A human’s rapid, shallow breathing. Sobs. Pain.

He sheathes his sword, sweeping the plain in search of the wounded bard. He finds him near the griffin’s fallen body, one huge, heavy wing crushing him to the floor, amid the sparking, sooty remains of the trap and a growing pool of blood. He falls to his knees, shoving the wing away; Jaskier is pale, paler than Geralt himself, and his silks are dirtied and dusty. His face is tear-stained, teeth gritted in agony.

‘Geralt,’ he gasps, reaching for him, and Geralt’s stomach flips. He scoops Jaskier up, tender as a groom with his new bride, or a father with his child; the bard’s leg dangles. Geralt, never one to be squeamish, is nevertheless grateful for the fact that Jaskier’s boot hides most of the damage. But even Jaskier knows that feet do not normally point in that direction.

‘How bad is it?’ he grits out, craning his neck to look.

‘Stay still,’ Geralt huffs, lifting him onto Roach; Jaskier drapes himself over her neck, face white as a sheet and sweating with pain. Geralt swings himself up behind him just in time to stop the bard’s body falling from the horse as Jaskier faints.

He leaves the griffin in the farmer’s field. The alderman will see it there; he can claim his thousand orens later.

The temple of Melitele at Ellander is a day’s ride from the plains at Dorndal. Geralt doesn’t leave Jaskier’s side, fighting the urge to snap at Nenneke when she makes Jaskier cry out and wince as she splints his leg, resetting the bone. The crepitus makes Geralt’s teeth hurt; Jaskier moans as she gently turns his foot, turning momentarily ashen, and the flare of protectiveness in Geralt’s chest frightens him. Nenneke rests a hand on his shoulder.

‘He needs to rest. Magical injuries take a lot of healing.’

‘I know,’ Geralt grates out, huffing a sigh. ‘It was - it was my fault. I laid the trap for the griffin, but he was caught in it instead.’

‘He won’t blame you, Geralt,’ Nenneke says, straightening, and rolls up her pack of herbs and tinctures.

‘He won’t have to,’ Geralt says heavily. He blames himself enough for the pair of them.

**Author's Note:**

> throw tomatoes (or prompts, whichever you feel like) at my tumblr: [here](http://jaaskiers.tumblr.com)


End file.
